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as though to hitch up his belt, and remarked, to no one in
particular, " Well, here goes." Then he followed, gropingly,
through the door where the other man had gone.

After a short while, that other man came out on the plat-
form again, and pronounced another name, Fuqua G. Morris.
It was the same man, Mr. Munn decided, for he could tell
by the voice.

The man who answered to the name of Morris vaulted on
to the platform, and entered the mill.

There was no conversation among the men left at the
loading platform. Now and then one of them would shift
his feet restlessly, scraping the gravel. Once a man asked
another for a chew, and the other, without a word, passed
it to him; and once a man struck a match for a pipe. The
two men nearest him seemed to withdraw from the little
sphere of light. Then the man's hand cupped around the
flame, and he touched it to the pipe. It illuminated only his
upper face, the heavy curve of the nose, which was bronze-
coloured in that small light, and the staring, faintly glittering
orbs of the eyes under the low hat-brim. Then the man
dropped the burning match to the gravel and ground it with
Ms heel. Now and then a man would be summoned, and
would enter the mill.

Once a horseman emerged from the shadow of the trees
across the open space, and began to move toward the mill.
Mr, Munn knew that that stranger could not see them there,
and that the eyes of every man were fixed on that exposed
and approaching figure. The stranger rode slowly past,
tethered his horse, and came to lounge against the platform.
" Good evening," he said, just as Mr. Munn had done.

"Good evening," some man answered. But no one else
replied.

When Mr. Munn heard his own name pronounced from
the platform behind him, it came with as much surprise as
though he had thought himself entirely alone. And yet, the
first several times that man had appeared, Mr. Munn had
teen sure the summons would be for him. Then, somehow,